Lost Without His Blogger
by Justonestory
Summary: There are lots of fanfictions about Sherlock dying, what if the tables were turned?


Sherlock was heading towards Bedlington. Or rather, supposed to be. He got lost along the way. Maybe he was supposed to take a left instead of a right, or a right instead of a left. He fumbled around with the map, trying to fold it out in front of the steering wheel. He once learned how to read it but he'd deleted it since then. Sherlock and John used to drive around a lot together.

But he was lost without his blogger.

Sherlock's eyes misted up thinking about his lost flat mate. And how it was all his fault.

_You can't think like this, Sherlock._ He heard John say. He heard John talking to him every now and then. Guiding him, helping him solve a murder, or rather, save the victim.

Lestrade was constantly buzzing around Sherlock, trying to make him feel better, saying encouraging things, always saying it wasn't his fault, and Anderson was just subtly saying it was his fault. Donovan just wasn't saying anything.

Sherlock shook his head. He couldn't drive like this. He pulled over to the side of the road and leaned his head on the steering wheel. He tried to stop remembering. But it wouldn't work.

_The "client." Mr. Hansen. He was the killer. He was the murder. He was the one that killed the teenager…_

_And John._

Sherlock leaned back in his seat. Closing his eyes harder and harder. Trying to forget.

_The empty garage. Bullets flying everywhere. Sherlock grabbed John's hand and tried to pull him out, John was slowly getting heavier. Sherlock grabbed him around the waist and pulled. Pulled him as hard as he could. He felt the warm blood gradually moving against his coat. Staining the dark blue grey fabric. When they finally made it out of the garage, Sherlock looked at his flat mate. His friend. His co-worker. _

_John._

Sherlock felt tears. No, no tears. He was Sherlock. He _is_ Sherlock. And Sherlock doesn't cry!

Except for John.

_Sherlock supported John under his neck. "John. John. John. Hey, hey, it's going to be alright." Sherlock cried, smiling at John nonetheless. "It's going to be okay." He said, trying to convince himself. John stared at him. "Sherlock, wh-when are we leaving?" John asked idly. _

_"Soon. Soon. Just, let me call Lestrade." Sherlock held his phone out in the light with a gloved hand. He blinked and tried to focus his eyes through the curtain of tears. "Lestrade, please, send an ambulance. John's been shot. Please. Hurry. Help." Sherlock dropped the phone, hoping it closed to hang up. _

He rubbed his eyes. No. Not now, he had a case didn't he? Maybe, something…

_"John. John. Please. Focus. Look at me." Sherlock remembered when he was shot by Mary. He had the mind palace. He knew what to do. If only he had enough time. But there as too much damage. Blood, everywhere. Yes! Where was the wound? On his side? On his neck? On his leg? Why was there blood everywhere? Why? _

_Why wasn't John breathing anymore? _

_"No! John! Please! I can't-I can't do this without you! You're a doctor! Tell me what to do! Please, John! Please!" He was begging. Not like he did with cigarettes. Not like he did harassing John. He was begging. Begging for life. Pleading for his friend. John, the one who thought Sherlock his best friend. His best man wasn't it? _

_"Please, John! You can't!" Sherlock was patting him all over. He couldn't think, where was he supposed to stop the blood? No, it wasn't that, he had to, resuscitate him? How? There was too much blood in his mouth. Sherlock continued patting his friend. Where? Stop the blood? Breathe in his mouth? Check for a pulse? What? _

_"John! JOHN! TELL ME WHAT TO DO! PLEASE JOHN! I DON'T KNOW!" Sherlock was yelling John. He was trying to give life to Redbeard. No, John. Redbeard. John. Redbeard. Which one? They were both his friend, he cared for them both. They were both his partners._

_And they were both dead. _

_Sherlock sat there, a long time? A short time? Patting and shaking John. Trying to wake him up. He was just sleeping wasn't he? He was playing a trick on Sherlock. Yes, and soon he was going to start smiling, then laughing, raising a hand at Sherlock, laughing at his ignorance. Of course he was fine! He could never die! Never! They were a team! They protected one another. Or they were supposed to. _

_"John! NO! No! Please, John! Wake up! Start laughing! You have to! You have to laugh! Please, John! Tell me it's a joke! Tell me it's a joke! It's just a stupid joke!" Tears were soaking into the blood. Blood that pooled everywhere. Sherlock's tears and John's blood. They were together. _

Sherlock looked down at his jacket. The stain was still there. Everywhere. His coat soaked up a lot. And tears were there. Fresh tears. Together.

_Sherlock was crying. Screaming. John. John. No, this had to be a trick. Sherlock backed away, biting his glove. As soon as he closed his eyes, it would be over. John wasn't dead! No! Of course he wasn't! How could Sherlock be so utterly ridiculous?! There he was, that hand on his shoulder. Sherlock looked behind him, Lestrade was sitting on his heels, kneeling next to Sherlock. Tears in his eyes. "Sherlock. Let's go home, the ambul—" _

_"No! John! You can't! He's still alive! HE'S STILL ALIVE!" Sherlock punched Lestrade over, running, crawling back to his friend. "JOHN!" He pleaded more, willing John to get up and laugh at him. "Laugh! PLEASE, JOHN! Show them you're alive! I can't do this! Not again!" _

Sherlock bent over, crying. He was lost. Completely lost without his blogger. That stupid, ridiculous, beautiful blog. The skull wasn't enough now. He wanted John. The man that kept him together.

His eyes searched the road, seeing nothing. John has been gone 3 weeks. He should be over this by now, shouldn't he? Like the woman, in Study in Pink. He was calling the cases by what John named them now.

How was he going to be Sherlock Holmes? Sherlock isn't complete without his blogger. And he never will be;

Because John believed in him.


End file.
